Sealand One Shots
by Deadfictionalcharacters
Summary: One-Shots based around Sealand, with references to the fire and his time as a war fort.
1. Fire On Steel

It hurt. Peter Kirkland could feel only white-hot agony coursing through his veins, each breath, each heartbeat bringing another burst of pain. He needed to find his brother, his brother would help him, he had to. Sealand winced, trying to convince himself that no, his brother wouldn't leave him for dead, wouldn't abandon him to the elements.

But he would... Sealand remembered 1956, when he was abandoned by the British army for over ten years, left to the harsh sea in the belief that it would destroy him. But that was 50 years ago, he wouldn't leave me now, right?

Either way, he needed to ask. The pain was only growing, and some of it gave way to fear... Was the guard safe? Could he burn so badly that he would die? If Sealand died, would any of them even care?

Those thoughts plagued his mind as he ran towards England's house, or at least, they did at the beginning. Then even thinking became too painful for him, and he tried to simply move forward, eventually only jogging, as that slightly took his mind off of the agony, made it slightly more bearable, and slightly convulsing in pain.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before Sealand found Arthur's home in the middle of London, after all, he had been there before, many a time. Just never a time as urgent as this. He stumbled up the porch, to the doorbell, however, he found himself to be in too much pain to reach up to it, it was just above his height. So, instead, flailing about, he attempted to grasp his brother's attention the only other way he could.

Hammering his fists against the door, hoping, wishing that England would help him, that he could just stop the damned feeling of being on fire. It was summer, and England was, thankfully, experiencing rain at the time, the cool droplets providing at least some form of relief for the pained childish form. Or at least, they would, or should, but in reality, each droplet felt like a spatter of boiling oil upon his skin.

After several minutes of screaming, pleading, trying to get Arthur's attention, Sealand found himself physically too weak to continue any longer, to him, the pain started to be fading, it almost felt like... the fire was going out?

Or perhaps, more likely, Sealand was finally falling into the arms of the monster known as 'unconsciousness.'  
Black spots danced around his already tainted vision, his eyes were forcing themselves to close, and by then, Sealand was just a collapsed body twitching in pain, the occasional irregular breath to remind itself that it was alive.

When he awoke, he saw the others. All of them, mocking him, taunting him, laughing at him. "So you think you're a country, but you can't even bear the slightest bit of pain? How pathetic." Of course it would be England who would say that, who would confirm his worst fears. He really was just a silly little micronation after all, trying to be something that he wasn't . The slightest bit of pain that a country feels and he breaks down. He can't even sort himself out he had to go to that jerk England's house for help.

He blinked, his eyes starting to well up with tears, but when he reopened them, the scene seemed different somehow. Instead of facing towards him and jeering at him, most of them weren't even there, only England and about five others. One was Prussia, perhaps? They were gathered around a television, and when he walked closer, he found that England didn't try to shoo him away, in fact, none of them did. They didn't even notice he was there.

"...Was completely burned down, reports are saying that one body was found in the wreckage..." The calm voice of the news reporter that Sealand heard did not fit the tone of the subject she was covering at all, in fact, it seemed almost disrespectful to him, "...Independence almost 39 years ago..." At this point, Sealand realised what they were talking about. Completely burned down... So he was dead, then? Is that why they couldn't see him? He was a ghost?

It would've been cool if I could move objects or something, then I could haunt jerk England for being a jerk, he laughed, even if it was only to himself, even if he knew that he'd probably miss England.

"Haha, now I guess that we won't have to go to the trouble of blowing that little fort up! In the end, he did it all himself, how stupid can you get?" Again, it was Arthur who was laughing at him, it was always Arthur who told him that he would never be a fully-fledged country, that he was too young to even understand what being a country meant.

But he did. Peter had been at war twice, he knew the horror of it, especially the first time round. He'd seen how humans have short lifespans, and age, and die, or, as the fort that had at one point been nicknamed "Fort Madness" remembered, jump into the sea to die. And now, he was feeling his first major catastrophe. Peter Kirkland knew just how painful it was to be a country. He even knew the loneliness.

He also knew some things that the other countries probably would not, and had not experienced. Most sentient beings generally don't jump at the idea of spending eleven years on a small platform 7 kilometres from the mainland, without any contact with the outside world. At least prisoners have guards.

As these thoughts and memories swirled the brain of the child, he noticed a strange sensation in his right arm. Or rather, he noticed the lack of one. He had heard that when countries die they fade away, but he didn't expect it to be quite so literal. He had not expected to end up with a transparent arm at the time of his death. He wouldn't go so far as to say that he hadn't expected his death, a flimsy sea fort that had been left to the elements? He remembered what had happened to Fort Tongue Sands, to Fort Sunk Head.

And as he thought of the other forts, of the times when they existed, he found himself standing there. On his home, only a year or so after his birth. Already he had reached the physical appearance of a seven year old. If you were a representation of a place that was created to fight, and was put into operation only half an hour after being deployed, you would most likely have to grow up fast. Especially during World War Two.

He remembered the night that he found himself at. In fact, he remembered it more than he wanted to. The stars shone bright above him, but it was a new moon. About thirty metres in front of him was the silhouette of a man, arms outstretched, looking down upon the violent water below.

Peter Kirkland remembered this moment only too well.

He remembered being rooted to the spot.  
He remembered seeing the man's body fall.  
He remembered the sound of it hitting the water, being lost among the ever pounding, ceaseless waves.  
But mostly, he remembered discovering what mortality truly meant.

And he hated it.

At once, the gravity of the situation hit him, and he collapsed onto his knees, onto the cold, damp metal that formed his home. That formed him.

Within a few minutes, he could barely distinguish the tears on his face from the spray of the saltwater. The sinking feeling of guilt, mixed with crushing sadness and shock ... No child should go through that. But he did, many times.  
In short, growing up as, or on a war fort in the middle of the ocean was not exactly fun.

And then, in his right arm, a stabbing, no burning pain. A million red hot needles poking at his skin, jolting him back to reality. Twitching in pain, staring straight ahead at the clouds, counting repeatedly to five in order to contain the scream building up in his throat.

Still collapsed on the ground, he made no attempt to move. Or rather, he felt he could not, it was effort enough to try to remain sane.

Through the blur of involuntary tears and agony, Peter could make out a figure in front of him. He wasn't sure how far, approximating a distance seemed like a painful waste of energy. The only thing that mattered, was that when the blurred humanoid being approached, he was able to recognise enough of his face to be sure that it was his older brother, Arthur.

The child looked up, barely enough energy to maintain eye contact; barely enough will to do so. However, he knew that he had to at least try to get some of the message across to England, as, at the moment, his brother was the only one who could help him. The child looked up, and, barely audible, "Please... I..." He blinked, swallowed, and mustered as much of his strength as possible. He sat up, and, a lot clearer this time, "I'm on fire. Please help. It hurts!"

He gritted his teeth, trying to maintain some dignity in front of his older brother, who spent most of his time with Sealand telling him exactly why he couldn't be a country. He would not let him add insult to injury.

Of course, considering the circumstances, with Sealand being in a puddle on the road, begging for help, the only shred of his dignity that he could hold onto was the fact that he hadn't screamed in front of his brother.

Arthur knew how much pain Sealand was in, his younger brother was shaking on the floor, doing everything he could to not scream, biting his lip, counting to keep away the pain, and to keep his mind occupied.

Apparently falling victim to a devastating fire ran in the family.

Arthur picked up his younger brother, and carried him into his house, setting him down on the pale blue sofa, telling him to fall asleep. Meanwhile, he called for the emergency services to be sent the the fort nation, hoping that it would not be too late to save his youngest brother.

As he waited for news, he attempted to inspect the damage, noting that a large patch on the back of his head seemed to have been damaged, as well as there being many red marks along his arms. He guessed that they would scar.

Arthur knew that, although he could not help lessen the pain unless the fire itself were put out, he could at least stop it from hurting more than necessary. Hopefully.

He made sure that Sealand was sleeping, after all, you don't feel as much pain when you are unconscious.  
I guess that Iggy here didn't know about the nightmares Sealand had been having, didn't know that they could, occasionally, cause pain to rival that of the agony Peter was feeling now.

At that moment, Peter was dreaming of an experience so completely, almost ironically different to the one he was enduring then.

Running, Slipping, Falling.  
Screaming, Sinking, Drowning.  
He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, he was flailing about in darkness, his steel body weighing him down, each instant bringing him further away from the sweet, sweet oxygen that we so often take for granted.

As the air in his lungs began to grow stale, and he was forced to pop his ears, he made one desperate attempt to swim upwards. The excess of carbon dioxide in his lungs was making him want so desperately to breath out, but at the same time, he knew doing so would only bring more agony, less air.

At this point in time, I would say that his vision started to go dark, but considering that his eyes were already closed, I feel like that statement would be redundant. Instead, he could feel his thoughts get blurrier, his chest hurt more and more, like his lungs were rabid animals, screaming and pounding to be let out of their cages.

It didn't take long for Sealand to agree to their demands, and let out what little air he had left.  
Dreaming of drowning whilst he was burning up?  
He almost could've laughed.

To this day, Sealand still did not know how exactly he had survived the event. The most he could recall, if any, was a faint memory of somebody shouting, and being dragged onto a boat in a fishing net.

He spent several hours in this state, recalling, reliving his worst memories, imagining his worst fears. The last dream he had, however, almost made him smile, if only out of nostalgia. Of course it was then when he woke up.

When he did awake, it almost felt as if he was floating; the pain was gone, almost. It was still there, in the sense that an injury will still hurt whilst healing, however, not as much as it hurt when the wound was in the process of being inflicted.  
It felt nice to be able to breathe in without the air scorching his throat and nasal cavity.  
He tried to talk, but the only sound that managed to escape his lips was a quiet, but harsh cough. However, it was enough to bring his older brother to his side, and, soon enough, he heard Arthur.  
"Peter? Are you awake?" His voice sounded full of concern, not at all like Sealand's dreams had painted it to be. Not mocking. Worried.  
Peter opened his eyes a crack, enough for him to be able to see a small amount in the dimly lit room.

Slowly, he nodded, and turned his head to face his brother. He fully opened his eyes, and attempted to take in his surroundings.

He recognised the room he was in, it was his bedroom of sorts, where he slept when he came to stay with England.

Again, he attempted to speak, but no sound, barely a whisper managed to find its way out of his mouth. Arthur smiled at his attempts, "I think that you won't be able to speak for a while, you were burned quite severely. No matter, you're safe now. I'll look after you until you're healed."  
Sealand stared up at him.  
"Would you like to try sit up?"  
Peter nodded, and then attempted to sit up. It proved harder than expected, but he decided he had to. He couldn't appear weaker than he actually was, he couldn't make himself out to be completely defenceless. Even if he was then, of sorts.

He smiled at his brother, but then tried to signal that he was tired, after all, he was barely awake, he still hurt all over.

However, despite the painful, less than fortunate circumstances, at least Peter was glad then. At least, then, he was finally able to receive confirmation that his brother didn't hate him. Arthur didn't want him to die. Perhaps those 11 years had finally been forgotten.

Then the boy's eyes closed, and, with a smile on his face, he fell back asleep.

No nightmares.


	2. Arthur, I'm Afraid of The Dark

**Danke for the nice review ParisisIndeedSplendid**

It had been two weeks since they had left.

And, by the powers in the world, it hurt like all hell.

When most of the soldiers left at the end of the war, he had felt a crippling nausea for months, and for weeks, he has been bedridden.

When the rest left, and he was deemed to be officially abandoned, it took 3 days for him to even regain consciousness. At that moment, he still had an agonising migraine that made him feel like his skull was splitting open, like there were tiny animals inside his skull attempting to claw their way out.

His eyes burned as if somebody had squirted chilli juice into them, he was constantly unable to breathe, his blood felt like acid pumping through his veins.

Still, he needed to eat, to drink water. Since he was abandoned, the cuts and scrapes he received no longer healed. He felt hungry if he skipped a meal, thirsty if he didn't drink.

He knew that wasn't supposed to happen. Immortal beings couldn't, _shouldn't_ , be able to just stop being immortal. But in a way, he did understand it, always had. Personifications represent their people, are tied to their people. Their territory is represented by their body. They feel the pain of their people, are affected by them. But if you suddenly take away the population, it would have terrible effects on the personification.

He needed to eat, to drink water, because he was pretty sure he was in the process of turning human. Maybe. Probably not completely human, the fort still existed.

For now, there was still a supply of hard tack biscuits in the kitchen, and there were several barrels he could use for collecting rainwater. So he limped over to the kitchens, hoping his legs wouldn't give out.  
Again, it was the silence that struck him. He hated silence, it was just so empty, so dead, so filled with loneliness. He just couldn't take it. He just wanted to scream, cry, sing, anything to fill that awful silence.

He picked up the packet of biscuits, and, thankfully, the water vat had been moved to there, so he was able to get a sip of the cool liquid, splash some on his face in the hopes it could help lessen the pain. Nope. Only sleep could lessen the pain, and possibly a long period of time.

Having nothing else to do, he went back to his room, and hid underneath the blankets, cocooning himself before wrapping a pillow around his head, it was that cold. He dreaded what winter would be like, during the war, several men had fainted due to the bitter cold.

He lay awake, with his eyes open wide, staring at the ceiling. _Why did you leave? You said that you didn't hate me, but I'm still alone on here._  
The questions were quietly thought of, until the boy's anguish reached the point where he sat up, screaming "You can't have forgotten! Please Arthur, just come back!" His cries turned quiet, as he sobbed out a desperate plea, "I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry, please come back."

The hours ticked by, and day became night, light became dark, and the child's appeals to someone that wasn't there turned into hushed whimpers.

The silence that the child hated so much seemed to have disappeared entirely. Instead, he heard creaks, squeaks, thuds. The clap of thunder far away. The pattering of raindrops seemed less like confirmation that he wouldn't die of dehydration, and more like a creature tapping on the window, begging to be let in.

The room, shrouded in darkness, also seemed to be able to shroud anything, _anything_ else. The closet could have one of those deranged people he heard about from the soldiers hiding inside of it, with a knife, ready to strike at any moment.

Underneath his bed, there could be one of those serial killers that the men spoke of at night, whilst telling ghost stories, serial killers that wore the intestines of their victims like jewellery, that wanted nothing more than to hear the screams of an innocent child, as they smiled with wide eyes, an ear to ear grin, and a knife hidden behind their backs.

Quickly, Peter pulled his covers over his head, and with one hand he reached for the light switch, forgetting that they cut all power here when they moved out.

At his window, he heard a thud, and almost screamed, however, when he looked out the window, there was absolutely nothing. His chest and head pounding, breaths increasing, he closed his eyes, and simply repeated in his mind, over and over again, _it's not real, it's not real, not real, can't hurt me._  
 _ **But you're already hurt.**_  
 _not real, not real, notreal,notreal, "_ ARTHUR HELP ME!" Tears were streaming down the panicked child's face as he cried out, almost forgetting that no, Arthur was not there, would not be there again for many, many years.

The child jumped out of bed, and simply sprinted, all the way to the top floor, the open air, in the pouring rain and thunder. Breathing heavily, he made his way to the edge of the platform, leaning on the railings, trying to catch his breath, within minutes he was freezing and soaked to the skin.

Teeth chattering, he looked out at the lightning, thankful for the brief moments of illumination it offered. From where he was standing, he could see the coast of England, a sight which almost made him cry. How close it was, how far away it was.

"Arthur! Please, come back!" The boy shouted across the waves, towards the mainland, however, his words were lost on the cruel, harsh wind.

The child knew that he couldn't stay out there forever, hypothermia was a terrible fate, but if he went back inside, then he would again have to suffer the sheer terror he experienced earlier. Not that it had much lessened out here, in fact, now that he thought about it, it still felt like the sort of location for a murderer, or a monster, to come and rip him apart, piece by piece, and throw him into the ocean.

The reflections on the water still felt like they were watching him, and the towers looked like strange humanoid beings.

The sudden caw of a bird made him jump so much he almost fell over the edge.

He ran all the way back to the kitchens, trying hard to not think about all of the people who had died on the tower, trying extremely hard to not ponder the idea that they could've been pushed.

He tore apart the draw, looking for a knife, for something to defend himself with, and was looking anywhere but the mirror in front of him, in fear that if he did, something else would look back.

When he did look in the mirror, he saw a face, wait, no, that was only a picture.

Then he sat down, back against the counter, not daring to imagine all of the ghosts or demons that could be creeping up behind him. With every second, the clock's ticks made him jump.

His mind kept conjuring images of a horrible being creeping up behind him, and every second, he was checking over his shoulder, to make sure that he was wrong.

Tears began to spill from his eyelids as he rocked backwards and forwards, the cold pricking his skin, and the ever present feeling that _no-you are not_ _alone,_ threatening to destroy him.

"Arthur," he sobbed, "I'm afraid of the dark."


	3. What Is Peace Like?

When the child opened his eyes, he heard gunfire. An artillery gun, firing at the German planes with a sound known to send pictures off shelves, smashing the frames. He wasn't afraid, however, he had been subjected to this since the day he was born, the 11th February, 1942. Thirty minutes after he somehow phased into existence, he was in operation. Roughs Tower, he was called then, and he needed to grow up fast, so that he could help. Then, the humans knew of the existence of the physical embodiment of the countries, and were not entirely surprised when a toddler appeared, as Roughs Tower was in international waters, so it could count as a country, at a stretch. When I say that he grew up fast, I mean that he appeared at the approximate human age of three, and within the thirty minutes it took for him to be in operation, he reached the physical appearance of a seven year old.

Countries, reflecting the attitude of their people, often share their knowledge with them, of course, this meant that Roughs Tower knew that he was born in a war, and that it was one of, if not the most serious wars that the country he stood with, no, the world, had ever fought. He was born knowing that utter failure meant his death.

With the other countries, that were formed by a physical landmass, as opposed to metal that could be bombed to pieces, or abandoned, after all, a country is nothing without its people. Worse, if he was taken over by Germany, perhaps he would be replaced by a German representation of Roughs Tower, and killed. Whatever way, as a man-made nation, as the world's smallest nation, he was certainly not immortal in the least.

So, again I revert to the original story. The child, Roughs Tower, was awoken by the sound of anti aircraft guns. He checked the time, it was half past five in the morning, so basically, he had half an hour to change into his uniform, and go to breakfast. A child, he still had to perform military duties, no matter his age, after all, he was a soldier. A micronation comprised solely of an army. A child expected to defend a country that wasn't even his.

Of course, he knew who he was defending. His brother, Arthur. He needed to defend his brother from the Germans.

Arthur had tried to look after his brother, had asked him to stay on the mainland, but Fort Roughs refused. He had been created to defend his brother, so of course, how could he just abandon his post? He had a duty.

Despite having denied the offer to live in England's house, he still missed his brother, and often wrote letters to him. It was England who had taught him how to write, England and some of the soldiers.

Fort Roughs changed into his uniform, a sailors outfit not too dissimilar to the one that he wears now, the only difference being the colour scheme.

The child skipped down to to breakfast, only to be stopped on the way by one of his officers.  
"Peter," The man said, not being able to help smiling at the sheer happiness of the child.  
"Sir?"  
"Today you shall not be eating your breakfast in the mess hall, I believe your brother is here, and he requested for you to eat with him in the officers quarters. Also, he said that you are to have the rest of the day off."  
Barely containing his excitement, the child was able to manage a "Sir, yes, Sir" before rushing along the corridor towards the officer's quarters, almost slipping over in the process.

Nervously, he knocked on the door, and when he heard his brother's voice from the inside, he rushed in, and hugged his brother.  
"Hi Arthur! It's been ages, I got better at my writing, and also, Smith is teaching me algebra, but I-" The child was rushing his words, so much so that he didn't even pause for breath.  
"Peter, try not to talk so quickly, it's not gentleman-like."  
"Oh, of course, sorry."  
"So, how have you been, I'm sure that it's not that fun growing up here, is it?"  
"Oh, no, no, It's absolutely fine, everybody is really nice," the child frowned for a second, "but I suppose that they do only treat me like I'm a child that doesn't really know what's happening, so that's annoying."  
It was true what he was saying, the soldiers seemed to forget that, often, he knew more than they did. It did surprise them that it was often him who started ordering them about when a German plane could be heard, and tha at he had the authority to do so.

"So, how have you been Arthur? Are we really close to winning? How is London?" There was no sarcasm in Peter's voice, only genuine excitement, like most children, he did find the war exciting, despite how much it hurt his men. Good on the kid, being able to keep in high spirits despite the circumstances.

"Well, we're still planning Operation Overlord ." There was a slight pause, neither of them too sure what to say, "I missed you, Peter..." Arthur did, he did want to look after his little brother, make sure that the Axis couldn't hurt him. But this was war, and Fort Roughs had a duty, as did England.

The two then noticed the fact that it was breakfast, and there was food. Arthur said something about how he had cooked it himself, and to just cut off the burnt parts, they wouldn't poison him.

Perhaps surprisingly, Fort Roughs actually found the meal quite nice, in fact, he thought it was one of the best meals he had ever eaten.

Although, the child did only live off of army rations, so really anything would have been better than whatever he had eaten before. _Anything_.

Halfway through the meal, Peter remembered that he had a question that he had thought of, but hadn't asked anyone yet. "Hey, Arthur? What exactly is peace like?" For the child that had been born in wartime, peace was unfathomable, the idea that there was a time when not everyone was a soldier, of a time when you didn't have to be ready for inspection everyday, it seemed like a fairytale.

"Huh? How could you not...Oh, right, sorry, I had forgotten about that... Peace is... Imagine not being worried everytime you see an aeroplane, or being terrified when you hear distant explosions, instead of being relieved that they were so far away. You can have as much chocolate as you want, and you don't only have to have army rations. In peacetime, odds are you hardly know anybody who's died, there are more celebrations..." He trailed off as he saw the look of confusion on his brother's face.

"England, what's chocolate?"  
"You mean that you've never... Well I suppose you wouldn't, would you? If you want, I could try find some for you, for the next time I visit. I think that Alfred has a fair amount."  
"Oh yeah! Can I meet Alfred one day? He sounds nice, and you're the only other one I've ever met!" By 'other one,' Peter meant 'other personification'.

England then found himself with a terrifying mental image involving Peter and Alfred teaming up to terrorise him.  
"No, I will not let you anywhere near that bloody Yank. I have a feeling that it would not end well for any of us, besides, he'd be a terrible influence."  
What Arthur might've meant by that was that he did not want America inspiring Roughs Tower to declare independence.

"O-Oh, ok. England? Can I give you the letters I wrote? You'll have to promise that you don't open it until you get back to your house, ok?"  
"Of course. I'm interested to see how your writing skills are developing."  
Because of its location, it was quite hard to send letters directly to the mainland, and so, Peter Kirkland instead handed the letters directly to his brother.

After many hours of them conversing, and Peter asking about life on the mainland, Fort Roughs found himself unable to stay awake much longer, his eyes losing the ability to focus. It was at this point that Roughs Tower remembered that he was a child, thinking himself to be in need of a story to fall asleep.  
"Arthur? Can you tell me about the mainland?"  
To Peter, 'The Mainland' was also, almost, a fairy tale, alien, practically a different planet; the child had yet to see even a tree, let alone hills, mountains, or houses.

He lived in a place with only a few hundred people, the fact that the world contained billions more was unimaginable. To the child, the world was simply his fort, and the coast of England on a cool day.

Arthur gladly obliged, launching into an explanation of the history of the British Empire, and, soon enough, the child was asleep, with a smile on his face as he dreamt of pirates and princes and princesses.

When he awoke, his brother was no longer there.

And he had 15 minutes before his shift started.

Just another day.

Another day filled with gunfire and fear.

Still, the child had a job to do. Get dressed, brush his teeth, head up to the gun-deck.

As he ran up, he thought about the day before, and smiled. Although he didn't speak to his brother often, he loved him, and it meant a lot that he made an effort to come out and talk to him, for a whole day as well.

When he reached the deck, he remembered the advice his brother so often gave him: " _chin up, look smart, keep still. Make sure they don't treat you like you're less than them."_

He followed this advice, and in a calm and clear voice, stated his name, and that he was reporting to carry out his job.

He wasn't entirely sure of the name of his job, only that it involved spotting any German planes that approached the fort to lay mines, or bomb, and then giving the order to fire.

He seated himself onto the damp, grey seat, and turned his head to the sky. As he looked, a small seagull squawked, startled, and flew out towards the coast.

What startled it, he was unsure. After several seconds puzzling over it, he turned his attention back to the gray sky. _Keep focus_ , he told himself, _keep focus or you'll miss them._  
It wasn't that he was just randomly told to go up and look for planes, no, sonar and whatever else (Peter didn't really understand) had said that the planes were going to come past his and the other forts, so they had to be ready.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, Peter saw a fleck on the horizon, that he quickly realised was a bomber.  
Immediately, he shouted the order that he had been told to memorise.  
"Plane sighted. Fire when within range."

And amidst the fire, the sound of the gun, and the splash of the water, Peter swore that he could hear a scream


	4. Letters Since Then- Those Sent

**These next two chapters will be done in a different style, like letters, it's kinda fun to write like that. Also, thanks to everyone who's reviewed, followed or favourited, it means a lot!**

13th December, 1948  
To England,  
Hello, I know it's been a long time since you last visited (at least five months!) but I decided to write this in case you change your mind anytime soon.

I know that there aren't too many soldiers here anymore, but they're all really nice. Sometimes they even tell me stories about the mainland. I think that they miss it sometimes. A few of them said that they had children back on the mainland, one even showed me a picture of his daughter! Jessica, her name was.

Anyway, I really hope that you can visit soon, but I know that it's probably quite busy for you, after all, you still have to fix up the country after the war!

Love from your little brother,

Fort Roughs

11th February, 1949  
To England,  
Today's my birthday! I know that you can't make it, but I'm glad you came to visit for a few hours last week, it meant a lot!

Today, I'll be turning 7! It's been seven whole years since I was built, isn't that weird? But I know its nothing compared to you, you're thousands of years old. Were you around to see the dinosaurs?

When I woke up today, the soldiers have me a sort of makeshift birthday cake- they lit a match and they stuck it into a bowl of porridge! I'm quite glad that they remembered.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

1st of March, 1949  
To England,  
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!

I know it was a few weeks late, but still, thank you! I haven't had anything to read for ages, but still, thank you! Even if the book is a bit sciencey and boring, it's still quite interesting- I didn't know that a third of the planet was filled with land, it seemed like all of it was ocean to me!

Also, can you tell Mr America I said thank you? The chocolate tasted fantastic! It's quite rare I get to eat something so nice!

In return, I'll give you something next time you visit, I've gotten quite good at catching fish, maybe I can give you one?

From your little brother,

Fort Roughs

17th June, 1949  
To England,

Hi! I don't really have anything to talk about in this letter, so instead, I'll tell you what happened today.

First of all, I had toast for breakfast, and, since we don't exactly have much to do here, we were able to sleep in until 8:00. Also, since I'm still a child, and apparently you insisted I have lessons, Jeremy Smith decided to give me a science lesson based on a fish.  
He first made me point out all of the ways it was involved to fit its environment. I said gills, but apparently there are also other things, like its tail and fins. Then, he showed me how to dissect and gut the fish! It was kind of cool, but also pretty gross.

And then I got to go back to my room, so now I'm writing this letter. I guess I should stop writing now, because I have nothing else to say.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

PS. Visit soon please!

9th January, 1950  
To England,  
Happy New Years! *\\(^o^)/*  
Did you know that I could see some of the celebrations from your country from here? They were awesome!

Also, one of the soldiers checked my last letter, and apparently it's "evolved" not "involved," so, sorry about that.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

19th April, 1950  
To England,  
Hey Arthur, I was wondering what you actually needed me for, because it's not as if there is any war still on, and I don't understand what else I am used for. When I asked the soldiers they just laughed, and said something about so it wouldn't be 'deecommishioned' I don't know what that means, and they wouldn't say.

Also, I found this one seagull that had made a nest! It's laid eggs and everything. It's kind of adorable. I can't really think of a good name to call it, so for now I just call it 'The Seagull'

I also learnt that you should not approach the nest of a seagull.

Hey, maybe if you visit soon, you'll be able to meet them!

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

13th May, 1950  
To England,  
THEY HATCHED THEY HATCHED!  
There's three of them, and they might get called Fluff, Pluff, and Arnold.

I decided that I will look after them, but since I don't know how to feed them, I think I'll just make sure they don't die.

The best part is, I got to see them hatch!  
I wish you could have been there to see them hatch as well, but maybe next time.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

25th December, 1950

THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME PRESENTS!

The football will be quite fun, but I'm worried I'll lose it in the sea!  
Happy Christmas!  
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR VISITING YESTERDAY!  
So many of the soldiers went to their houses then, I think they were visiting their families? I wonder if they have older brothers as well- I should ask them!  
From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

PS- Tell America I said thank you for the chocolate

17th August 1951,  
To Arthur,  
Its been _ages_ since you last visited, please come back, I miss you.

Also, because I need to write a proper letter, I should probably write about anything that happened recently.

Last week, I saw a hot air balloon just by your coast! It was bright red, and it was just calmly floating along in the sky! The wind was quite strong that day, so I was worried that they might crash, but they didn't.

Imagine what it would be like to be in a hot air balloon- you'd just be floating above everyone else, they'd simply seem like ants! It'd probably be quite scary though, because it's high up.

From your little brother who is missing you,  
Fort Roughs

11th February, 1952  
Dear Arthur,  
It's my birthday again! I'm turning ten!  
Only one of the soldiers remembered this year, he's the only one who has worked here since the war ended. For my birthday, he gave me a yoyo, and then he said that he would make sure that he would deliver this letter to you.

I know that I usually wait until you visit to give the letters, but you haven't visited in about half a year, so I wanted to make sure you got this, just to remind you!

When you read this, please visit!

From your little brother that really hopes you didn't forget about him,  
Fort Roughs

3rd March, 1952,  
To England,  
Thank you for visiting! I'm sorry about the last letter, I understand that you have a lot of work, and that where I live is quite annoying to get to, it's just that I wanted to be sure!

Today, I was taught a bit more about different species of animals on the mainland, but they all seem so weird to me, especially the sheep. It's so oddly fluffy. It looks a bit like a cloud with a face that's plotting against you.

It also has four legs, which is weird.

From your brother,  
Fort Roughs

7th September, 1952

To England,  
Yesterday was scary... Really scary...

I was doing some chores at night, and then I saw one of the soldiers standing on the edge of the platform. At first I thought that he was just looking at the coastline, thinking about his life back on the land, but then he leant out over the edge and I froze.

Then he jumped off. I heard his body hit the water.

I know that this has happened before, and it was horrible before, but I'd never seen it happen. Everyone else is also quite shaken up this morning, but they're not really talking to me. I think they don't know what to say.

Please come back, I'm scared.

Your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

19th December, 1952

To England,  
I completely forgot! Elizabeth is queen now, isn't she?  
I know that she became queen ages ago, the soldiers were talking about it, but I'd forgotten to mention it it you. Is she nice?

And also, from last time you visited, its fine, I get nightmares a lot. It's not like it's anything new! Still, thanks for looking after me then.

You said that you'd visit for Christmas, so I'm happy about that! *\\(^o^)/*

I've started to create a present for you as well! We have a lot of wool here so the soldiers can have a hobby, so I'm knitting you a hat!

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

18th May, 1953,

To England,  
I've been thinking, and would I be able to visit the mainland one day? Because in 11 years, I have never left here, I've only heard stories of the mainland, of whole places filled with the colour green, places bigger than this fort. Whole fields of green, filled with strange animals that have four legs and aren't seagulls!

I barely ever see the colour green. Or the colour red.  
Is it true there are also whole fields that are completely filled with multicoloured flowers? I've never actually seen a real flower before. One of the soldiers drew one for me, they look very pretty!

Is it also true that there are places that are always snowing, or are always sunny, or where people don't have to always wear uniform?

I'll understand if I'm not able to, after all, I still have a duty here.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

7th August, 1953,

To England,  
I understand that you weren't able to take me to the mainland, but thanks for the photograph!

How do photographs work, anyway? I asked one of the soldiers, and he just confused me even more. Another one said something about magic, but I don't believe him!

I also know that you say stuff about magic as well, but I'm pretty sure it's not real, I tried one of your spells once, and nothing really happened, other than a storm, but I don't think that they're really related.

Is it true that on the mainland they have pictures that move? And they come on these weird box things?

Are they a bit like a puppet theatre? They put on a puppet theatre one Christmas, it was funny!

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

31st December, 1953,  
To England,  
ITS NEW YEARS EVE! The dates get so weird when the year changes, just saying "1954" feels odd to me.

This year is the first year I'll be allowed to stay up with the soldiers! After all, I'm almost 12, sort of, so I should be able to, shouldn't I?

Oh well, you can't stop me!

I hope you enjoyed the Christmas present I made this year, it's meant to be a pencil pot, I sculpted and painted it myself, do you like the pattern? Thanks for my Christmas present, I needed more books to read, there's hardly anything to do here! Also, can you thank Mr. America for me? I had never tried melon soda before, it tastes really nice! He has nice food and stuff in his country.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs  
PS- I almost forgot, thank Mr. Canada for me as well! The polar bear teddy is adorable!

2nd April, 1954

To England,  
Hello England! Today I almost fell into the sea, but I was really brave and I didn't scream at all!

It was a bit scary though, I know better than any of the soldiers what happens to people who end up in the sea, I'm the only one who's been here this whole time, and I know of a fair few who died from there.

The reason I almost fell off was because I was trying to balance along the side, but then I slipped, and-what happened next was really cool, like in one of those comics that Mr. America gave me- and I grabbed onto the side with one hand!

One of the other soldiers saw what happened, and they helped me up after that, before giving me a lecture on safety- I suppose you would be done the same!

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

PS- Please visit soon!

13th October, 1954

To England,

Today I accidentally slept in until midday, I didn't mean to, but I got quite told off for it!

My reason was that I was kept up half the might because of nightmares, but they wouldn't listen!

Nightmares are really horrible. They make you feel scared, or guilty, and then you can't get back to sleep! I honestly don't see the point!

You get nightmares as well, don't you, England? I remember last time you visited, I woke up before you, and you were shaking and crying in your sleep!

Do all of us, all personifications, get nightmares?

They're horrible, they make me afraid to turn off the lights, or go to bed. I'm glad Mr Canada gave me that stuffed toy, it makes it less scary.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs  
PS- If you get nightmares, why don't you say? Otherwise, don't they get worse?

10th February, 1955

To England,  
I'm almost 13! Technically, at least...  
I still look like I'm about 7, which is odd. Will I look like I'm 7 forever?  
That would be horrible...

I hope that you visit for my birthday, after all, you haven't visited since before Christmas!

For my birthday, can I have a few more books? I have almost nothing to do here, the most of my job now is repairs. It's really weird- whenever a leak is quite bad, I start crying uncontrollably. Do you have anything like that, when floods happen?

Arthur? Since there is nothing to even do on this fort, what exactly is my purpose? I don't mean to be ungrateful but why do I still exist?

It's not that I'm complaining or anything, I'm quite glad! It's just, sometimes I get a bit scared, like you'll suddenly decide that it would be a better idea to just get rid of me, I know what happened to some of the other forts- please don't let that happen to me!

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

12th July, 1955

To England,

It's really odd for me to think that some types of food grow on trees. It's honestly quite odd for me to even comprehend the concept of trees. Are they animals? Are they like rock things? Maybe they're living rock.

If trees are alive, why do we chop them down?

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

16th December, 1955

To England,  
I saw some seals off on the port side today. They were very cute, but also really cool! They just cut through the water like one of those torpedoes you taught me how to spot.

Also, I saw a plane fly over, I think it was on its way to London, it sounded really loud, and when I heard it, I got a bit scared, because it reminded me of the planes from the war, even though they were smaller, and sounded a bit different. I wonder who was on that flight. Maybe some of them were positioned here during the war! That would be weird, but interesting.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

15th February, 1956

To England,  
The soldiers here have been talking being "decommissioned," and "finally able to home, but when I ask, they just ignore the question and look at my sadly. What's going on? Most of them won't even look me in the eye!

Your little brother,  
Fort Roughs


	5. Letters Since Then- Those Lost

15th March, 1956,  
To England,  
Everybody seems to be really happy today, but when I ask why, they suddenly get quite sad. It's odd.

Also, James, one of the soldiers with a cabin close to mine is packing his bag, as well as a lot of other people. I've never seen this many people get shore leave before! I do hope that they have fun on the mainland.

Also, I saw you earlier, but when I called your name you didn't seem to hear me? I'll try to find you later, maybe at lunch?

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs.

18th March, 1956  
To England,  
I just woke up, and I have a terrible headache. In fact, just about everything hurts, I can barely move, I'm finding it hard to write.

It's really dark, and I can't hear anybody talking. Maybe it's night time?  
Nope, It isn't, I just looked outside to check. I didn't see anybody else there, either. It could be a day off, they could all be sleeping still?

I think I might sleep as well, everything still hurts, so I might as well just go back to sleep and hope that it goes away by the morning. Maybe I just sprained something?  
From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs  
PS. It doesn't hurt too badly, I promise!

20th March, 1956

To England,  
There's nobody here, at all. I haven't heard any footsteps or voices (but most sound is drowned out by a really annoying ringing sound that started a few days ago) and nobody has came to fetch me from my bunk.

Do you know where they are? They can't have left, can they?

Come to think of it, maybe that's what they meant by "decommissioned". Maybe they have all gone.

I thought that this might happen, I mean, I don't have much use, do I? I'm just a waste of resources, I understand that.

Even if I have been, please can you still visit me?

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

21st March, 1956,

To England,

There really isn't anyone, anywhere. I was able to leave my bed today to check, and also because I need food, and they wouldn't really have any need to clear out the kitchens.

It's kind of weird that I need food, I've never felt hungry before. I thought personifications were meant to be immortal? Can we starve?

England, am I even a personification anymore? There's nobody left for me to personify.

This is scary, please come back

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

22nd March, 1956

To England,

Last night, I had a dream that I began to fade away because there was nobody here, it was really scary!

I don't think that it'll happen though, the fort still exists, so I think I will as well.

It's still terrifying.

Also, I tripped over and grazed my elbow, but it didn't heal. Why isn't it healing?

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

23rd March, 1956,

To England,

Did I mention that there is no electricity anymore? Everything is really dark, and at night it seems like theres stuff hiding in the shadows.

It's scary, please come back.

Also, the graze still hasn't healed. I really hope that it does soon, it doesn't hurt, but it just scares me that I can't heal like I used to.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs  
PS. Please, come back.

30th March, 1956

To England,

It's been half a month, and I haven't seen anybody here. I know that I represent this place, but couldn't you have taken me with you?

I don't understand, what did I do wrong?  
I'm sorry if I was rude, but please, just come back, I'm scared, its dark, there's nobody here.  
Please.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

7th April, 1956,  
To England,  
Everything seems really blurry. The ringing noise hasn't gone away.

This is probably because everyone left, isn't it?

I hope that they are happy on the mainland, I could see that they all really missed their families and their friends. They also never really fared too well stuck out here, if the whole "fort madness" was any indication.

I wonder if I'll ever end up like that, I don't want to.  
Please come back, I really don't want to go insane here.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

PS- I have an idea, I'll make a promise to myself here that I will not go insane  
I, Peter Kirkland, Her Majesty's Fort Roughs Tower, do hearby pledge to not go insane.

5th May, 1956

To England,

The supply of food in the kitchen ran out today. I suppose I'll have to catch fish? Or maybe birds. I don't know how to catch either, there's no guns left, save for the anti-aircraft guns, and I think they might be a little overkill.

I'm not too sure whether to be glad or sad that there aren't any rats here, because if there were, I could eat them, but, if there were, there would be rats.  
Maybe I'll just eat bugs or something?  
One time one of the soldiers dared me to eat a mosquito. It wasn't exactly filling.

Please, just come back.  
From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

7th May, 1956,

To England,  
Today I finally figured out a way to catch some fish!  
There's a pile of old rope somewhere in the storage room, so I turned a length of it into a sort of pulley system to lower myself down to the water, then I just use a pot from the kitchen and hope something swims in, I use seaweed as bait, so far I've caught one very small fish.

How do you gut a fish? Wait, I think I remember that Lt. Smith showed me, about seven years ago. I can't really remember much, but it's enough, I think.

Why is raw fish so salty and slimy?

It tastes really horrible, can you please come and save me from here.

Your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

8th June, 1956

To England,

It's so quiet here, I don't understand how people can take how quiet it is.  
I'm used to hearing hundreds of voices, and there being people reading me bedtime stories.

It's just so lonely here.

I'm trapped here.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

19th July, 1956,

To England,

Will I have to stay here forever?  
I really, _really_ don't want to stay here forever. Please, I'm begging you, come pick me up, I can't stay here, I can't take this. At night it feels like the monsters will come get me, I have nightmares. Please. It's just so empty.

The aching hasn't gone away, the only food is raw fish, I have to distill the water to drink it, now that there's a drought, I've walked around every inch of this place, it's like a prison.

Please, I'm begging you, come back.  
From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

12th September, 1956.  
To England,  
You've forgotten about me, haven't you? Why did you forget about me? That's the only explanation, isn't it? That you forgot, otherwise why else would you leave me here?

Do you hate me, is that why? If you hate me, I'm sorry, please come back, I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

Please.  
Your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

5th November, 1956,

To England,  
Today is bonfire night, isn't it? I remember, when the soldiers were still here, they used to celebrate it by singing songs, and quite often setting fire to something, it was quite fun.

You'll be celebrating it today, right? Can you at least remember that I exist when you celebrate it? It's almost Christmas, please remember.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

February 12th, 1957

To England,  
Christmas and my birthday have both passed. You didn't remember. Maybe your present got lost in the ocean or something? You _can't_ have forgotten, you used to visit at my birthday and Christmas all the time.

It's really weird, celebrating my birthday on my own. I don't like it, it's lonely, and I just want somebody to talk to. It's almost been a year.

It's really cold.

Sometimes, I see boats pass by, but none of them ever notice me. I scream at them, but they're too far away, and not paying attention.

There isn't anything that I can use as a flare, I checked for magnesium, potassium, but there's nothing at all, no way to get people to notice.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

June 16th, 1957

To England,

You should hear the sound of the ocean from inside the towers at night. It sounds like a monster roaring. Every day, a monster roars at me from the darkness. The pounding of the waves can be its footsteps. When there were soldiers here, they used to tell me that it was ok, they were all soldiers, they could protect me from the monsters if they arrived, and you used to read to me if you were there when I woke up crying. There's nobody here now.

The monster can come get me, nothing can stop it.

Please, come back to fight the monsters.  
From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

18th August, 1957,  
To England,

I've grown. I'm not supposed to grow, am I? If I grow, that means I'm human, I don't want to be human, the humans break, they spend to much time on their own here and they jump off, I don't want to jump off of here. If I'm human I'll break, I'll shatter, I won't be able to handle it here, I can barely handle it as it is. If I'm human, am I even still your brother?

It's the first time I've grown since 1942, this is weird.

From your little brother (at least, I think I still am,)  
Fort Roughs

14th November, 1957,  
To England,

Maybe I can swim across to meet you? I can see the coastline from here, it's not that far, I can lower myself down on the pulley I use for fishing, and then swim across!

I'll see you soon!

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

15th November, 1957,

To England,

Why was the ocean so cold? The current pulled me somewhere. I went under the water. I panicked.

I think I used a rope to get back here, I can't remember. I'm shivering, I can't write this, it's a mess. Now I know what hypothermia feels like.

I'm really glad for the teddy bear that Mr. Canada gave me as a present, years ago. It's comforting. It helps me stay warm, a bit.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

1st January, 1958,

To England,

I saw you! You were on the fort!  
Or at least, I think you were. When I went up to you and tapped you on the shoulder, you vanished into thin air. Why would you do that? It's mean to vanish when people tap you on the shoulder.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

19th April, 1958,  
To England,

It's so dark, it's so dark.  
I keep on hearing a dripping noise. It doesn't really stop. Drip, drip. I saw a spider trying to climb up it. Itsy Bitsy spider. Climb up the waterspout.

I like spiders. They crawl everywhere, and they can build homes out of string. Maybe I'll be a spider. I'll become a spider and make a parachute to fly my way back.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

27th October, 1958

To England,

I've made two promises in these letters, I think I've broken them both, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for doing whatever it was that made you not want to visit me, was it because I didn't work hard enough? Was I too loud, or too annoying? I'll be really quiet, if you come back to visit me, just once, please.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs.

24th March, 1959,

To England,

It's been three years, please , I'm worrying you won't come back at all. I think I've normalised being alone. I can't really remember the sound of a lot of people.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

9th August, 1959,

To England,

I saw you again today! But when you turned around to look at me, you vanished again. I don't think its normal for people to vanish, is it?

I've also started talking to the seagulls, sometimes they reply. It's usually little things they talk about, like how their children are doing, or whether they think I'm good at fishing.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

25th December, 1959,

To England,  
I had a really nice dream last night, it was really happy! I was dreaming about when you came to visit for Christmas, and you also brought some presents from my family in the rest of of the world. There were also all of the soldiers there, and they were all happier than usual, as well as how they all sang. There was a really nice Christmas dinner, the best food I've eaten ever!

I also dream sometimes that you come and visit me, and tell me that everything is ok, like you used to when I was little, and you read me a story. You tell me that there was a mistake, and you meant to pick me up from here ages ago. Sometimes I stay asleep for days dreaming of those, because I have nothing else to do.

When I was little, you visited all the time, almost every month during the war.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs.

15th March, 1960

To England,

The seagulls were being really mean today, they kept squawking at me about how it's been four years since I was left here, and they were laughing at how everyone has forgotten me. They kept on saying that nobody cares, and that I'll have to stay here for the r _est of your life. Forever. Nobody cares, that's why they left you!_  
Sorry, that was just one or the seagulls, it's lying, I'm sure that you care, right?

Fromyourlittle brother,  
Fort Roughs.

19th July, 1960,

To England,

HELP ME PLEASE.

PLEASE JUST COME BACK I CANT STAY HERE ITS SO DULL AND LONELY.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

14th December, 1960

To England,  
I miss being able to talk to people. All I have are the toys from when I was a child, and in my worst moments, the seagulls.

It's kind of hard to explain, I slip between reality and insanity. Reality is worse, sadder, and then I start to get hopeful, and slip onto insanity. I talk to the seagulls, they talk back. Sometimes you appear. It's like a messed up dream. I know I'm in reality at the moment, but I wish for insanity, just a bit. Insanity means that I'm not lonely anymore, but still, I want to be sane.

I know a few things, I'm alone, I'm scared, there is life seven miles away, but it doesn't come to rescue me.

This letter is the longest I've written in a while, but I'm glad for it. It's good to write down the information, the letters give me something productive to do. I spend most of my time making up stories, remembering what life was like before. I try to think happy memories, happy things.

I know this letter is scattered, but it's the most collected my thoughts have been in a while.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

6th February, 1961

To England,  
The pain seems to be going away, sort of. I think it's getting more numb. I don't exactly feel agony as such anymore, I just feel weaker. It's getting harder to use the rope to fish, because I have to be able to lower myself down. When I get up, I can't hold myself up, I need to lean on something for a few minutes.

Look, even my writing is getting messier. I'm sorry, you were so proud when I first learnt how to write, I've gone and messed it up now with this scrawl.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

9th July, 1961

To England,

I can't catch food anymore, I'm too weak, it's too dangerous. Yesterday I fell in, and only just managed to grab the rope. If it was winter, I think I'd be dead of hypothermia.

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

14th October, 1961,

To England,

Please, I need you to come back. I can hardly stand, writing is difficult. I'll starve soon. Each day I spend longer asleep. I have nothing to do but sleep.

Why would they all leave? It wasn't your order, right? Who ordered it?

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

4th January 1962,

To England,  
You will visit soon, right? I can't stand this much longer. I keep seeing things hearing things, voices. I can't stand. I'm surviving off of some fish that I pickled in salt. When they run out I think I'll starve. I just want to sleep.

Your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

5th February, 1963,

I'm so sorry, I haven't written in a year! I know you probably won't have time to read these, so it probably doesn't matter too much. I would've written more often, I promise, but I've just been too weak, I've spent the past year asleep, pretty much. Nightmares are hard, but I quite often have good dreams!

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs

6th August, 1963,

To England,

I'm sorry, I can't write these anymore, I lie too often, and my handwriting is getting awful and it's hard to pick up a pen, my hand shakes that much. I'm sure that I'll be ok if you come and pick me up!

From your little brother,  
Fort Roughs.


	6. The Mainland

It had been so long, so long since the child had had any kind of interaction with anybody. The first he had had in 11 years was when the Bates family arrived, and expressed their confusion and shock as to why there was a _child_ , lying unconscious and shivering inside the kitchen.

When he awoke, it took a while for him to remember how to speak, how to make the sounds. It had been that long. So, instead, he attempted to write to them, after all, he had kept up his writing skills. For as long as possible, he had wrote a letter to Arthur every week, in the hopes that his brother would come back, rescue him from his home that had practically became his prison. He never did.

 _You could know that countries receive personifications. I am this place._

When the family asked him why he wouldn't speak, he simply replied:  
 _I haven't needed to._  
Almost immediately after writing this, another thought struck him.  
 _Do you know where Arthur is?_  
 _He's my brother. He left me here._

The child's handwriting was readable, but weak, sloppy, slow. The kind of writing you get if you make somebody write with their non-dominant hand, or if you make them write after not being able to use their hand for months.

All in all, it was the handwriting of a sick and weak child.

 _Can you take me to Arthur?_

Of course, the family refused at first, said it wasn't a good idea, especially considering the weakened state of the child.

As if to accentuate their point, when Peter stood up, he immediately felt dizzy, sat back down, and fell asleep.  
When he awoke, he smelt something he hadn't smelt in years, the smell of warm porridge. It may not have been much, but it was so, so much better than raw, bloody fish that he caught from the sea.

Once he had swallowed, he somehow managed a quick "Thank you," before eating the rest, the first words he had spoken in about 5 years.

Whilst he was eating, the family told him that, because Fort Roughs was in international waters, and had been abandoned, they had realised that they could declare him to be an independent territory, however Peter didn't particularly care what they were saying, the only word that struck a chord with him was "abandoned".

 _Abandoned._ To cease to look after.  
 _Abandoned_. To leave without any intention of returning.

It wasn't as if the child didn't already know that, it's more as if having it confirmed by somebody other than himself was the final blow.

He knew that Arthur had left him. He always knew, deep down, that he wasn't coming back. But there was always one naive little strand of hope preventing him from accepting it.

Now that the pathetic strand of hope he had been hanging to had snapped, he was falling into a pit of resentment. No longer was it _When is England coming back?_ But it was instead, _How could England not come back?_

Spoon halfway to his mouth, his eyes started to well up with tears. Not wanting to seem pathetic, he quickly shovelled the bite into his mouth, and focused as hard as possible on not crying. He cried enough when he was alone.

"An... independent territory?" Peter was confused. If he understood what they meant, then he might've thought that he was wrong, or that it was an absurd idea. Probably both. "As in, a country?"  
The nods that they have him told him that he was not wrong.

For the moment, he switched back to writing on the pad. Perhaps it was because he felt like speaking too much would hurt him. Or maybe he felt like speaking about England would hurt him too much to be able to speak out loud about him.  
 _But Arthur always said that I could never be a country. He said that forts weren't meant to have personifications._

After a few more seconds, he scribbled something else down.  
 _I know it's only breakfast, but can I please go back to sleep?_

When he was answered with nods and worried expressions, he simply rose, and walked towards his room, the room he had slept in since he first appeared.

It was still exactly the same as then, the only difference the lack of electricity, and the ever mounting pile of unsent letters.

Maybe he could finally give them to Arthur.

Some of them had been destroyed, whether by damp or just age, and a large portion of the later ones had barely any words, just a broken scrawl.

Perhaps, before he actually went to meet Arthur, he could just give the letters to the Bates family, and make them post the letters. After all, he still had yet to even set foot on the mainland, let alone try to find his brother's house.

He curled up, trying to feel happy. This was the best day he had had in over a decade, but he felt almost unable to be glad about it. Maybe he had gone so long without happiness that he had forgotten what it was, or maybe he still missed his brother.

As he slept, he dreamt of the last day he had seen Arthur before everyone left.

When he awoke, he had forgotten that the family was there, he thought that they might also have been a dream, but no, they were there, he wasn't alone. For the first time in over a decade, he wasn't alone.

He wasn't alone, for the first time in over a decade.

Peter got dressed, and then headed towards the mess hall, where the family would probably be, remembering a pen and paper, which would be useful, should he think or find himself unable to speak.

The clothes that Peter was wearing had certainly seen better days, the only reason they were still wearable was because the child had spent some time sewing them, mending them. Thankfully, the soldiers had left some forms of supplies on the fort when they left, random sewing needles scattered about, and it wasn't too hard for the child to get some thread out of an old blanket, and once the worst of the pain was gone, he was able to make some repairs.

He walked along one of the corridors, and noticed the growing amount of rust, a few spots of damp here and there that he honestly had no idea how to fix.

When he arrived at the mess hall, he greeted the family with a respectful "Good morning," but it was just formalities, no emotion, none of the excitement that Peter is so often associated with.

He took a cup of water, let the cool liquid soothe his dry throat, so that he could attempt to speak, after all, he had only said several short sentences since the family arrived.

"At some point, would I be allowed to go to the mai... to the mainland? I want to deliver some letters. To my brother."  
His voice was shaky, but determined.  
"I don't even need to speak to him. I just want to deliver my letters to him. I want to see what the mainland is like. Please?"

I suppose that they couldn't really come up with any argument to oppose him, and by the end of the meal, plans had been made for Peter to be able to visit his brother.

Peter told them that he would be perfectly fine with staying on his own in a hotel room, after all, it's not as if he wasn't used to it, and he would rather be on his own if he got to meet his brother.

However, the family decided it would probably be best if they at least waited until Peter's health improved. They could see quite clearly that the years on his own had almost broken the child, that he was scared. It was hard for them to even imagine what 11 years completely on their own would be like. They honestly weren't even sure if it was a good idea for Peter to be meeting his brother, if his brother was the one that left him for that long, but the idea of meeting his brother seemed to be the only thing that had kept him going for those 11 years, so they couldn't exactly deny him it.

Over the space of a few months, Peter's condition drastically improved. Within a few days, he was smiling a bit more, laughing at the stories the family told him, and within a week, he seemed to be immortal again, most likely the result of having a population again, people he could represent, and this time actually as a country, not a fort.  
Sealand.  
Not Fort Roughs.  
Not anymore.

He was more and more excitable, talking more and more, eventually running around and playing.

His mental and physical state could probably be linked to the repairs that the family were carrying out, making the fort liveable. And they seemed happy, so he would probably end up being happy as well. Still, it didn't stop the nightmares  
After about 6 months, the day finally came for Sealand to set foot on the mainland for the first time.

"So... I just have to step onto the boat, right?" His voice was quite nervous, in reality, he was terrified. There were so many different ways that Arthur could react.

The sea spray stung his face, but he was also laughing at how fast the boat was going, how he was finally leaving to see the mainland. He was also crying, as he was leaving the only home he had ever known even if he knew he would return. He saw a seal surfacing above the water, the coastline getting clearer and clearer, until he could see what he assumed to be trees and houses.

When he stepped off, he felt sand beneath his feet for the first time.  
The child's eyes widened at the beauty of everything around him, everything from the painting on the street sign to the bare bones of the trees. Everything was just so vibrant, so _different_ , he was sure there were some colours he hadn't even seen before. The bricks were just so _red_ , the people were laughing, they weren't soldiers. A few metres away, there was a man selling some sort of roasted sweet.

Another thing that almost made him laugh was the fact that everybody treated this like it was normal, they all took it for granted, none of them would ever understand the feeling of stepping into an entirely different world, where nothing was the same, where he had been hearing stories about since the day he was born.

About a hundred metres away, he saw a little thing of fluff, he didn't even know what it was, but it barked at people, and it was adorable to him. _It could've been a ... What was the word? A dog, that was it! A dog!_

 _"_ Excuse me, Mr Roy, but how are going to find Arthur?" The child's voice was still awestruck, inquisitive.

"I think that we'll get a cab into London. Seems the quickest way." Upon seeing the child's confused expression, he felt a need to explain. "A cab is like a car that somebody else drives, and you pay them to take you somewhere."  
"Oh! I know what a car is! It's like a big metal box on wheels that moves, isn't it? So a bit like a plane or a boat, but on land, right?" He spoke quickly, like he felt everything would all disappear.

When the taxi arrived, Peter stared at it, gobsmacked by everything from the design to the sound of the engine. He climbed in, and once it started moving, he noted all that was passing by, trying to remember the names, or guess them, or sometimes just made them up on the spot.

He noticed all of the people going about their lives, some carefree, without a worry in the world, some rushing about with panic on their faces. He saw children his physical age playing football in fields, adults his actual age rushing to get to their jobs.

The mainland was so much larger than he could ever have imagined, it seemed neverending, bigger than possible. For a child who spent his whole life on a place where you could run from one end to the other in about 20 seconds, the fact that you could drive for hours and still not be blocked by anything seemed odd and fascinating to him.

He stared out of the window, pressing his cheek against the cold glass, and thought about how England had left him on the fort. For most of the time, while he was being repaired by the family, he had either repressed the memories of England, or, when thinking about him, reverted to his old tactic of thinking to the future, and when he would next see England.

England had left him there. That much was simple. He left a defenceless, innocent child alone for 11 years. Whether or not England cared, Sealand knew that he would still visit England, no matter what the Brit thought of Sealand.

Sealand began to cry, again reminded of times gone by, when England told him stories until he fell asleep, when England treated him like a little brother who he loved. It was so long ago.

The taxi pulled over.

"That's a government office. He should be in there." Roy wished him luck, before getting back in the cab, probably to head back to his family.

Sealand gulped, and walked towards the glass doors of the building. They were clean, unlike the windows of his home. He pushed a door, and found himself in a room filled with couches, with one person sitting behind a counter.

Sealand sat down, not exactly knowing what to do. After about a minute, the receptionist turned towards him, and cleared her throat, meaning for him to stare why he was there.  
"Oh, I... I'm here to see Arthur Kirkland"  
"You?" She seemed shocked for a moment, then recovered. "Do you have an appointment?"  
"No, its more of a... personal matter?"  
She looked at him, noticing the similarities between the two, and making the obvious connection, "Very well. Third door on the right, first floor. Staircase is that way." She gestured to her left.

He practically ran to the staircase, up the stairs, until he found the door.

Through it, he could hear his brother's voice on the phone, this alone was enough to make Peter catch his breath.

He knocked on the door, three times.  
One. Arthur reading a newly spawned Peter a bedtime story.  
Two. Peter learning how to shoot a gun.  
Three. The last of the boats leaving the fort, Peter being left behind.

When the door opened, nothing even needed to be said. Peter took one look at Arthur and burst into tears. Arthur took one look at Peter and stepped back in shock.

Peter just handed him a letter, and ran out of the building, sobbing.

 _To Arthur,_

 _You forgot about me, didn't you? 11 years ago, everybody else left. I've been all alone for 11 years. I missed you, you never visited, never said a word._  
 _I could see the lights of the town from there, a town in your country. They still turned off every day, unaffected by me, anything._

 _I don't understand why you did it. I was just a child. I'm still just a child. You could have bought me back to the shore, kept in contact with me._

 _I remember you cared about me when I was little, so how come you ignored me now?_

 _I know you just left me to die, now I know that. You jerk._

 _Your little brother,_  
 _The Principality of Sealand._


	7. First

**When I first published this, I wasn't able to add the last few hundred words, so here it is with the end part, sorry about that. I'll probably write something soon to continue off of this.**

His first memory was terror. Pure terror, nothing but. It would've been the day that he was sunk into place. He remembered being tiny, unable to speak except those few words that babies or toddlers knew. When he first opened his eyes, he saw soldiers rushing about, and everything was tilted to one side, everything was falling, slipping, tilted. Everything around him just seemed chaotic, everyone was panicking. He heard a soldier's voice, one of a man barely 19, shout "The kid's awake!" before the child heard the thud of footsteps running away from him, probably going back to doing whatever he was doing before.

That was the first emotion he had experienced that was shared with his people, terror. He only understood what had happened about a month later, but by then he was older, mentally and physically.

Amidst all of the chaos, the child managed to fall asleep again, and when he woke, several minutes had passed, and the soldier from earlier was standing by his bed, "Hey, kid, where are your parents?" He asked, a mixture of curiosity and confusion on his face. Within those several minutes, he had grown enough to be able to talk, at least a small amount.

"I don't know, what are parents? I think I have a brother, but I've never met him. " The child, barely appearing to be five answered, his expression and intonation mirroring that of the man.

A naval officer then burst into the room, spotted of the child, and was caught off guard, "Andrews, to your quarters! And you, the child, with me!" For some reason, the child was quite trusting, and without hesitation followed the man up several metal flight of stairs. To some, the building would have seemed foreboding, but for the child, it was home. "Hello there, who are you?" The officer was quite a tall, intimidating, man, so it seemed quite odd for him to be acting in this manner, but of course, he did not want to scare the child.

"I don't really know who I am, sir" the child's voice picked up, "Oh! But I know who you are, you're Officer Charles Johnson, right, sir?"

The officer seemed surprised, the child had to at least have some inkling of who he was. The officer had also not told the child his name, and it didn't appear to be written on his uniform anywhere, however, he simply chalked it up as him forgetting that he had told the child his name. Perhaps the child had some form of amnesia, maybe he should take him to the infirmary, at least to give the child a check over, because there was definitely something off about him.

"Ok, little one, I have to help the soldiers organise the fort, would you be able to take yourself to the infirmary?"

The child nodded, a smile on his face, as he skipped in the direction of the infirmary. A few minutes later, whilst the officer was unloading the ammunition, he realised: there was no way the child could even know the way to the infirmary.

Officer Johnson made his way to the medical bay, it didn't take long, as it was on the same floor as his quarters. He opened the door, his face filled with worry, scanning the room, until, thankfully, he found the child, chatting with the doctors, who were trying to keep him entertained.

One of the doctors caught his eye, and motioned for them to leave the room, so that they could talk in private. He followed, and found himself standing outside, on the deck, by the dolphin.

"I take it that you have noticed that there is something off with that child?" asked Johnson, wanting somebody else to understand what he meant.

"Yes sir. He says that he doesn't have a name, his vital signs are...odd, and, strangest of all, when he walked in here, he tripped on the doorframe, and sliced his leg open. He asked for a bandage, to clean up the blood, but within about 20 seconds, it had healed." The doctor did try to express how odd that was, but Johnson mostly brushed off the more puzzling parts, and instead just tried to see how to care for the child, which would be a better thing, it's better to care for something than to use it as a test subject.

"Should we radio in to the mainland? Whatever this boy's situation, a place like this is no suitable location for a child, certainly."

The doctor stared at him, "Well, obviously sir, we can't keep a child here. I've already asked Philipps to send a message. Soon somebody will come to ask questions. In the meantime, you should get back to manning your position."

Johnson nodded, before saluting and walking away. The doctor walked back into the medical bay, noting that the child was playing some sort of game with the nurses, he wasn't sure what. I spy perhaps?

He heard the officer come in, and turned around, beaming at him.

"Hello sir!" He exclaimed, "I saw you come in just earlier, but I didn't get the chance to ask how you were!"

"..No, I'm... Hm? I'm ok," He muttered, lost in thought, studying the child, and trying to figure out if he was, in fact, taller than he seemed to be earlier. After a few seconds, he just brushed it off as his imagination.

"Oh, that's good!" The child went quiet for a second, "I think I'm going to go to sleep now, goodnight!" And the child slept, comfortably, happily, unaware of the confusion surrounding him.

Several hours passed, and a boat arrived, with a stern looking army official in it. Now, Colonel Fletchley had been sent to collect and examine the child. Yes, his rank was probably too high for that to be expected of him, however, the oddities about the child had rung a few alarm bells and raised many questions.

As he climbed the ladder, he took a moment to look over the fort. Seemingly bleak, he didn't see how the men stationed here would be able to bear it for so long. Still, this was war, and they had to. He wondered how many of them had lost family in the bombings, how many had family still waiting for them. How many were here alone. How many would go insane here.

He shook his head, as if to dismiss those thoughts, and walked up the stairs, past one of the anti aircraft guns, and into the medical bay. They had been informed of his arrival, after all, they had requested it, but they still were surprised when the colonel walked in, rushing to stand to attention.

"At ease. Stand down. I trust that this is the child, am I correct?" He guessed, motioning towards the boy.

"Yes sir. He seems quite happy, and we believe him to be healthy, but—"

"Yes, yes, I did read the report, but I need to see something first, before I can take him to land. If you could introduce him to me?"

"Of course Sir, right away," The doctor then led him over to the child, who was happily laughing.

The child turned to face them,

"Hello!" He paused for a second, confused, "You don't work here, do you?"

"No, I don't. How did you know that?" Fletchley replied with the air of someone who knew the answer exactly, with a false sense of curiosity that the doctors and soldiers around him could see, however, the child could not.

"I don't know your name. I know the names of everyone who works here, but you're weird, I can't tell your name!" He laughed, for some reason finding that funny.

"Oh, I see. Could you excuse me for a moment?"

"Of course!" He answered, beaming. He watched the colonel walk out of the door, before turning back to whatever game he was playing.

Fletchley had been alerted earlier to the whereabouts of the sole phone on the fort, and so he made his way to it. He entered in the phone number that he had memorised years ago. It seemed that their suspicions had been confirmed.

Meanwhile, on the British mainland, Major General Stuart Robinson picked up the call. He had been waiting for it for several hours now, it could hold a key to winning the war, or it could cause a boat (or a fort) load of complications. It it was confirmed, then Arthur Kirkland would need to be alerted immediately. Not only because of what it could mean for the war effort, but because of what it could mean for him.

Particularly for what it could mean for him, because nobody was too sure what it could mean for the war. If it was true, the public would not be allowed to know, and the information would need to be prevented from reaching the Axis Powers, obviously. They would probably need to have everyone on the fort swear to secrecy.

The phone rang, finally, shaking him from his thoughts. He picked it up, it was Fletchley.

Robinson listened to what he had to say, noting how he was careful to not give anything away to people who may be listening on their conversations.

"I see,"

"And you're absolutely positive?"

"Then I should inform him right away."

Robinson put down the phone, and then walked to an office several doors away, where it seemed a heated discussion was taking place, as one usually was there. It was less of a discussion, more of an argument, he realised, after listening in on it for a few more seconds. He knocked on it, seemingly ending any and all conversations taking place.

The door was opened by a rather annoyed looking man, and in the room with him were two young men, one quite energetic-looking, and another calmly sitting in the corner. He had met them before, the one who had answered the door was Arthur Kirkland, the others were America and Canada respectively.

"Hello Sir, Mr Jones, Mr Williams." He greeted them, nodding towards each one.

"Hello, Robinson. Is there any chance that there is an important message for me that means that I sadly have to leave this room and thus stop talking to this git for a while?" Arthur replied, gesturing towards Alfred.

"Hey! What the hell Britain?" America exclaimed in protest.

Robinson thought it best to end their squabbles before they began anew, "Actually, yes, there is. It may take a while to explain, so you'd better come with me."

Arthur looked slightly surprised, as if he hadn't expected that what he said was actually the case, "Really? Well then, unfortunately, I'll have to leave. Matthew, Alfred, tell the frog where I am if and when he gets back."

"Whatever Iggy," Alfred grinned.

For a moment, Arthur looked as if he'd say something to protest the use of the nickname, but then thought better of it, and walked out of the room with Robinson.

After about a minute of walking, Robinson opened the door, and motioned for England to walk through. He did so, and sat down, looking expectantly at Robinson.

"Alright. Is it good news or bad news?" Arthur's rather abrupt tone caught Robinson off guard.

"Good news, we think. But it's closer to odd."

Arthur looked at him, motioning for him to continue.

Robinson looked in his pocket for the official report.

"Yesterday morning, His Majesty's Fort Roughs was deployed on the Roughs Sandbar, several miles out of British territorial waters." Arthur nodded, none of this was new to him.

"Soon afterwards, a young, unattended child was found on the fort. He appeared to show signs that suggested he was not entirely human, and seemed to know more about the fort than he should. He could tell if a person worked on the fort or not just by looking at them, and appeared to heal very quickly."

It was around now that Arthur began to realise what the man was getting at, however, his expression remained unchanged, except for the slight widening of his eyes as he listened for more information.

"We here noticed those signs, and made the connection. Colonel Fletchley was sent several hours ago, and was recently able to confirm the physical similarities between you two." Robinson put down the report, and looked Arthur straight in the eye, "Unheard of as it is, it appears that this fort has a personification, somehow."

"Well how the bloody hell is that supposed to work? We build a fort, it comes to life?" He was sitting bolt upright now, trying to process the information.

"Apparently so."

"And I trust that few are currently aware of these facts?" Arthur had managed to compose himself, externally at least, but internally, his brain was racing through a million possibilities, and he was terrified.

"Of course."

"The soldiers, on the fort, tell them. Actually, I'll tell them myself. Can you arrange for a boat and a car for me to reach there?"

Robinson looked surprised for a second, then steadied himself, "You, sir? Personally?"

"Naturally. I've just been told I have a younger brother, or child, or whatever he is, and you expect me to carry on with my day as usual. I should see him." His tone was imperative, almost urgent.

"Oh, of course sir. Excuse me for one moment, please," He dialled the phone, with the number that he had noted down to be that of the fort.

"Yes, I have,"

Arthur couldn't make out the voice of the person on the other end of the telephone, so he just had to try to guess what sort of conversation was happening.

"He says that he wants to see him. Immediately."

"Good. I'll arrange for transport now, goodbye Fletchley." He put down the phone. "You have a car, don't you sir? I trust you know the way, after so long."

Arthur gave a small smile, "Yes, I know the way," He paused for a second, "There is a boat there, I expect?"

"Yes sir," he said, beginning to open the door.

"Goodbye then, Robinson, thank you," England walked out of the door.

He walked down the halls of the base, trying to process the information given to him. There was a child, and the child was his younger brother. The child had been born in the middle of the war, and in a dangerous place, too. Sure, he was off of the front lines, but he could be bombed. Oh god, what if he was? Would he die? The fort, it'd be so tiny, he wouldn't be safe.

He wondered if he'd be able to take him to the mainland, make sure that he couldn't be hurt. Evacuate him to the countryside maybe. Sure, the worst of the bombing was over, but he couldn't be too safe.

He exhaled, trying to calm himself. The child would be fine, he just had to take care of him. He'd ask if he could bring him to his house, there'd be enough room for him, and it had hardly been damaged, save for a few dents in the brick from a blast a few metres away. That had been an interesting night.

Getting into his car, he also thought back to his own childhood, how cruel his brothers had been to him, and in that instant, he made a vow to himself. He'd never let that boy suffer like he did.

It took about two hours for Arthur to drive to Harwich. In normal circumstances, it would probably take him a lot longer, however, he was stressing, and was probably going much faster than he should've been, and he could definitely have made the journey in an hour and a half, had it not been for the bomb craters and rubble littering many of the roads.

Arriving at the docks, he saw that there was an army colonel waiting for him. Arthur approached him, recognising his face, "Fletchely? Good afternoon. Is the child on the fort?"

"Yes sir," he gestured out to the ocean, in the general direction of the fort, which was almost visible in the distance, "He's been in the medical bay since before I arrived. He's quite happy, sir."

"Good, that's good," Britain muttered, squinting and trying to spot the fort. After about half a minute, he managed to, and turned back towards Colonel Fletchely, "I trust I'll be taking that boat there?"

"Yes sir, will you be needing someone to captain the boat?"

"No, that's not necessary ," he shook his head, "I've plenty of experience with boats, I'll be fine."

"Yes sir, I wish you luck," he saluted, and made his way into the town.

While England was on the boat, no new questions came to mind. Just about all possible queries and worries had crossed his mind while driving there, so if anything, he was just stressing over the very idea that he had a new brother, who he had to protect.

Still, he had enough thoughts to occupy his mind for the duration of the journey, and to be able to at least have some idea of what he would do when he met the child. No doubt that plan would go out the window and he'd turn into a mess.

Soon enough, he was able to stop the boat at the dolphin, and get up to the deck. Pretty quickly, what looked like an officer came to meet him, "Are you Arthur Kirkland? It's an honour to meet you Sir," he tripped over his words, evidently nervous at the prospect of meeting his country.

"Yes, I am. You're Charles Johnson, am I correct?"

Johnson looked faintly surprised that he knew his name, but then remembered his first meeting with the child, and chuckled, "Yup, you two are definitely brothers. Follow me, sir, he's this way."

England looked around, taking in the sights around him. Like Fletchely before him, he thought the fort a bleak place, however, he could also see how it could be cosy to some. There was a constant smell of seawater, a scent familiar and comforting to England, but it was mixed in with the smell of machinery, those two smells did not tend to meet often, not in Arthur's experience.

The entire atmosphere of the place seemed odd to Arthur, like a boat, but never moving, filled with people, but completely isolated. It just seemed...off to him. No doubt it would seem completely normal to the child, when he met him.

Almost in time with Arthur's thoughts on the boy, he heard the sound of childish giggling, from, he assumed, the medical bay. "He's through here, I presume?" Johnson nodded.

England took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and began to walk towards the door."Er–hello?"

He walked in, and saw the child's head turn towards the noise. The child, however, instead of acting shocked, simply smiled and waved, his face lit up with delight,  
"You're my brother, aren't you? I knew I had a brother. What's your name?"

For at least a second, it seemed as if everyone was mildly astonished at how abrupt he was. Even England was taken aback at the child's cheery nature, and took a second to collect himself, "I, er, yes, I'm your brother," he looked the child up and down. He was wearing an exact replica of the naval uniform worn by the others working on the fort, however adjusted for size. The child-his brother- had a face that seemed almost identical to how his had looked, when he was younger, the only differences being how the child's eyes had a sea blue colour, which England attributed to his being in the ocean, and the smile that the child wore on his face. "Oh, and I'm England, um, call me Arthur."

"Would that make me Fort Roughs then? I would think that's an odd name, but I wouldn't know. How come you have two names?" His words flowed off his tongue very quickly, with almost no pause for breath, and hardly any time for England to answer, in fact, just as he opened his mouth to do so, the child started rambling again, "Oh! Is it because you have to have a name to go by when you're acting as human? How come I don't have one of those names?"

"Oh, because you haven't been given one yet. Would you like one? It would make life a lot easier for you." Arthur's eyes scanned the room, he had absolutely no idea what to call the child, and was quietly panicking, again.

"Yes please! That would be really nice!" The child, was, of course, oblivious to Arthur's panic.

"Er... would you be a Henry? Stephen? Charlie?" After each name he gave, Arthur muttered that, no, that wouldn't do, or something along those lines, until eventually, it was just a long stream of names pouring out of his mouth, none really seeming fitting to him. At least with Alfred he'd had some time to think about it.

After a few minutes of this, a nurse piped up from next to him. "Sir, he did like the story of Peter Pan..."

"Hm? Actually, you're right... Peter does seem to fit him. What do you think, little one? Do you want to be called Peter?" He made eye contact with the nurse, in a silent 'thankyouthankyouthankyou so much'

The child looked up at him, nodding and grinning at him in a way that seemed to Arthur like he would probably have accepted any name, he was just glad to be given one, and then hugged him.


End file.
